XXXI. These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand Filling the chilly room with perfume light. Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.” XXXII. Thus whispering, his warm, unnervéd arm 275 28. Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream By the dusk curtains: 'twas a midnight charm 285 The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam; XXXIII. Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, Tumultuous, and, in chords that tenderest be, 66 In Provence call'd La belle dame sans mercy : Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan: she panted quick — and suddenly Her blue affrayéd eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone. XXXIV. Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: 290 295 300 At which fair Madeline began to weep, XXXV. 305 66 Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even now Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, Made tuneable with every sweetest vow; And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear: 310 How changed thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear! Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, Those looks immortal, those complainings dear! Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go." XXXVI. Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far At these voluptuous accents, he arose, Seen 'mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose : • Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet XXXVII. 'Tis dark quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet : A dove forlorn and lost with sick unprunéd wing." 315 320 325 330 XXXVIII. 66 My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? 335 Thy beauty's shield, heart-shaped and vermeil dyed? Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest After so many hours of toil and quest, A famish'd pilgrim, saved by miracle. Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel." 66 XXXIX. Hark! 'tis an elfin storm from faery land, 340 345 Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead: Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be, 350 For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee." XL. She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around, 355 360 XLI. They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall; With a huge empty flagon by his side: The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide, рег 12s By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide: The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans. XLII. And they are gone: aye, ages long ago That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe, 3799 375 ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: Of beechen green, and shadows numberless O for a draught of vintage, that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delvéd earth, Tasting of Flora and the country-green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sun-burnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret 15 20 Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 25 Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; And leaden-eyed despairs; Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 30 And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown 40 I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 45 50 |